Session 24

“RUN!”
He tried to scream,
But his throat was gone.
Blood flowed from neck and teeth,
The wolverine skull drenched red.
The beast stood bleeding,
The man stood bleeding,
The other fell
To the rats at his feet.
An ant, big as a dog,
Lunged at the man
As Jac lay bleeding,
Now immune to the needle-teeth.

His life ebbed.
His mind raced,
Hopes to be saved,
Fears past escaped,
Sorrow of loss
And of hopes dashed.
Sadness and desperation gripped him one last time,
And then Jac Steele-——————————-died.

Session 23

Jac Steele lifted the lid of the trapdoor and stared down into the pit from which he had earned his freedom only a few hours earlier. For a moment, he paused to consider his motivations. The past few days had been exceptionally difficult. The smuggler had been tortured physically and psychologically and only saved himself from that by promising to work for the man he’d come here to kill. It bore weighing the impact on one’s psyche before taking any brash actions.

Akiros, whose life Jac had worked so hard to spare, shifted from across the opening. Jac looked at him and his resolve hardened. There would never be a better chance. The torturous little witch down those earthen steps was already wounded. The Stag Lord was asleep and alone. A storm roared over the fort, drowning out sound. Jac and Akiros would kill the little, twisted bastard below, then steal their way back up and cut the Stag Lord’s throat in his sleep.

Jac nodded once at Akiros and dropped through the trapdoor. Akiros followed silently behind. Both men were ready to shed whatever blood would be needed to ensure their respective survival. Tonight, people would die.

Session 21

My eyes opened once again to a brilliant and cloudless sky. For that brief moment, with the lingering magical euphoria of my recent healing still buoying my mind, I felt that I could just fall up into that sky and leave everything behind. Then I turned my head to see the closed wooden gate freshly stained with the blood and those feelings were rudely slapped aside. To say that this was the most hopeless situation I found myself in would obviously be untrue. However I can think of no other situation where I felt despair so acutely. In that moment I was certain of only one thing; no one was getting out of that fort alive.

To be fair the fact that these thoughts occurred after seeing my only ally leap blindly off a roof, falling through that same roof myself, and being pummeled to unconsciousness by a club wielding lummox with a penchant for blankets, may have contributed to my inability to view the situation objectively. It should have been obvious to any of us that an assult on the monestary fortress would be unsucessful. Liluye was missing, we knew nothing about the strength or dispensation of our enemy and more importantly we knew nothing of our own strength or how to figt together. We began the fight as throughly seperated as possible while still being in the same fortress. Wiktor lept headlong at the fight with the most opponents. Jac tried to occupy the Stag Lord, first with words and then by convincing the lieutenant Akiros to attack him for us. Reiner was on the roof with me and once the figting started attempted to sow more confussion by waking the lumbering hulk named Ox. I readied myself to destract as many bandits as possible to aid my allies. Within moments the Ox had decided the best way to deal with the chaotic situation was to chase the halfling with a whip. I probably should have been flattered. I would have been fine had overlarge man not chased me on to a weak section of floor and caused both of us to crash through to the chambe below.

That chamber turned out to be a filthy closet that I later learned had, until moments before, held a captured owlbear. Even now I’m still not exactly sure how that owlbear got out in the first place but I was thankful none the less. Trapped as I was in that dark refuse strewn alcove I would surely have died if not for Saoirse. I called and quick as an arrow he came to my aid. With the last of my strength I leapt upon his back and trusted that he would carry me to safety. I passed out from the strain and the repeated hits on the head from a giant metal stick. I awoke, not back in the forest as I had hoped but instead as I have already described. Liluye had returned in the proverbial nick of time in order to save my life. I doubted my recovery, as the next thing I saw was a dinosaur asking for healing. Naturally, I obliged, and the next moment Saoirse, Liluye, Wander carrying a very unconscious Wiktor and I were making a mad dash for the tree-line. It was only then I found out that Reiner had not perished in the fight but was taken away by the insane masochist Dovan. I asked but even Liluye was unclear as to what fate had befallen Jac.

The tunnels behind them were caving in. The sweet violin choir played no more. Liluye, still half-drowned, vomited water down her front gracelessly as she sprinted down the corridor. Jhod ran just two paces behind her; she could hear his ragged breathing as they pushed their bodies past their limits. Jhod’s face was pulpy and unrecognizable from the mauling. Blood poured down the Liluye’s neck from the enormous bite wound. Poison darts protruded like porcupine quills from the elf’s body – there was no time to remove them. Her ankle oozed pus from the festering wound and she ignored the stabbing pain that shot up her leg when she put her weight on it to run.

Elf and cleric barreled out of the small tunnel and into the larger one.

As she ran, Liluye screamed down to Wander over the rumbling of the cave in. “RHEGED, WANDER!”

Wander was waiting for them, precious cargo tied about his neck. He danced in a circle, dark eyes showing their whites with fear. Liluye vaulted up onto his back in a motion as fluid as water, leaving an arc of her own spattered blood on the white canvas of the elk’s hide. In that same motion, Liluye reached back to help haul Jhod onto Wander’s back. The elk was already running.

The sparkling magical stream seemed to laugh in the voice of Delrus’s eidolon.

The cave in followed them, inches from Wander’s hind hooves. It seemed that every step the elk took was just barely enough to keep his three riders from dancing on the brink of death. His long white legs tangled and untangled themselves as he ran. The deer leapt over two of the red sinew traps that threaded across their path, but triggered the last one. Jhod yelled as a thousand blood-red darts fired from the encroaching walls. The elk was just fast enough to avoid the majority of the trap. A single dart spiraled in what seemed like slow motion, tearing some pale fur from the end of Wander’s stubby tail and pinning it to the wall for a only a moment before the wall itself shattered.

“RHEGED, WANDER, RHEGED!” hissed Liluye, pushing Wander harder than she ever had in her life.

She cradled the newborn baby to her chest protectively.

The tunnels wound endlessly in a corkscrew, hot as a womb. It was a miracle that Wander kept his footing as he ran. Their speed was so great that tears were pulled from Jhod and Lilu’s squinting eyes. The earth swallowed greedily behind them, determined to bury them alive. The motley crew spilled into the vine chamber. The altar and silver scales were in their way – there was no time to tip-toe through the entangling mass of murderous vines!

“Hedfan,” whispered Liluye. Wander’s ear flicked. And he leapt.

For a split second, elk, elf, man, and babe were silhouetted against the sparkling golden light Jhod had cast in the room earlier. Liluye could feel Jhod’s pulse fluttering in his arm where he clung to her waist. The baby’s giggle was almost too faint for Lilu’s ears. Wander’s entire body was a flexing muscle as he hurled himself into the air like a pale bullet. He leapt over the altar and across the entire room. From its nest in the ceiling the assassin vine surged down. It tried to snatch the baby from Liluye’s arms to add to its nest of bones. Time stopped. In a moment too heroic to recount adequately, Wander tore the vine away with his antlers…

And landed flawlessly on the other side of the room.

Don’t look back.

They rode on. What else could they do? In the distance Liluye could see the exit. It felt like they had been running for hours. Clods of earth were falling in front of them now, and Wander’s hind legs were showered constantly with crumbling rocks. The boulder was slowly moving to plug the doorway. This would be their tomb.

“C’mon, boy,” wheezed Jhod to Wander. The elk had pushed his body long past reasonable expectation, and blood dripped from his nostrils. The door was closing and the beautiful, ugly, sound of a woman’s laughter flowed through the earth behind them. There wasn’t enough room out the closing door, they wouldn’t fit, surely they would die here.

I’m sorry, boys. I suppose I won’t be coming back after all

But Wander hadn’t given up. The elk dropped his head and continued to barrel forward like a battering ram. His antlers clacked against the closing rock as they breached the demon’s womb and poured back into the light.

Session 20 Supplemental

The heavy wooden door slammed open so violently the frame shuddered and the hinges nearly tore free. Through it stormed a giant of a man. Seven feet of muscle crowned with the horned and dessicated skull of a deer stormed through and came to a sudden, jerking halt in front of the man leaning against a ruined stone wall. The Stag Lord swayed as he stood, the bottle of green wine Jac had poisoned and given as a gift hanging in his right hand, but an evil light almost glowed from the sockets of the stag’s skull.

“Yeah.” The word was shrouded in smoke that caught beneath the brim of Jac’s hat, shrouding his face.

“There will be an extra 200 crowns for you this month.” The bottle dropped to the Stag Lord’s side as though the arm had suddenly lost all life. “I hear you think you’re better than my men and that you killed the northern patrol.”

Jac’s yellow eyes slipped past the terrifying figure before him to the man he dwarfed. Akiros stood as tall as ever but in the shadow of the Stag Lord he seemed almost to be skulking.

“Dat’s raght,” Jac said before drawing again on the taste and effect of tobacco.

“You’ll take over the northern patrol, then. You’ll keep an extra 10% of your take for the first month. Welcome to the Stag Lord’s army. Soon we will carve our kingdom out of these Stolen Lands.” The monster turned on his heel and swept back into his room, the door jarring behind him. Jac let out his breath and this time the smoke rose out beyond his overhanging hat to curl up into the air. Akiros gave Jac a meaningful look and began counting out gold.

The green wine was unopened and the chartered group’s current plan to kill the beast Jac had just seen depended on the poison. Jac knew he would have to make sure it was drunk. He glanced at Wiktor, sitting ten paces away and feigning involvement in the fat bandit’s game. Wiktor’s cold eyes met Jac’s gold ones. The northman’s lips barely moved, but a second later Vedal’s voice magically carried the whisper to Jac’s ear.

“Wiktor wants you to get Akiros to open the door again.” Jac nodded to the barbarian as Akiros handed over a pouch of coins. Beneath his hat, Jac’s eyes flicked towards the bandit seated with Wiktor. With his usual chains missing he was nearly as terrifying as the Stag Lord. Jac hadn’t realized how much of a comfort that strange habit had brought before now but rumors of the Stag Lord crushing a man’s skull in his hands twisted with memories of Wiktor beating his foes into oblivion without the aid of a weapon. Wiktor, too, was sober. And cold.

As Akiros moved back towards the gate, Wiktor made a sign with his hands. Jac understood the image of a man falling and glanced at the partial second story above the table. Surely Wiktor couldn’t mean to kill the only man in this fort isolated enough to turn against the bandits. There must be other ways to draw the Stag Lord out.

“He doesn’t like to be disturbed. You’re lucky to get what you did and I wouldn’t push it, he might kill you. If you’d like to try, though, be my guest.” Akiros waved past Jac towards the Stag Lord’s door.

“Okay, sho’. Go get ‘im an’ we can discuss dis over a drink or somethin’.” Jac stepped aside, indicating the way for Akiros, and ashed his cigarette.

“Oh, I’m not getting involved,” Akiros declined, the trace of a smile almost reaching his eyes. “He’d be just as likely to kill me for rousing him.”

“Ah tought you were more important dan dat,” Jac chided desperately, watching Wiktor and the bandit rise from their table. He knew he’d made a mistake when Akiros’s eyes narrowed and he turned from Jac, leaving him to his whim.

All right, Jac thought. I can at least draw the Stag Lord out myself. He turned, pulled on the cigarette again and exhaled as he moved toward the door. Besides, he’s a well-known drunk. And that green wine’s supposed to be a mighty fine vintage. There’s a good chance he’s already downed the bottle. Might be he’s already passed out or dead from the poison.

Jac reached the door and could now see that the wood had indeed splintered where the hinges clung to it. I do wish I knew what baneberry poison did. He raised a gloved hand and knocked four times on the door. He pulled his hat from his head and put his ear to the door, listening closely for any sound of breathing.

“What?!?” The growl of the Stag Lords voice shuddered through the wood, catching Jac off guard and robbing him of his nerve. Only twice before had Jac been more sure he would die and his mind warped with images of still pools, a blood-stained apron, a smile, and a man with a cleaver. Whipping his hat back onto his head, he turned and fled, walking as quickly as he thought he could without arousing suspicion. He rounded the ruined stone wall’s corner and nearly slammed into Akiros, who had taken up position leaning against the wall.

“’e’s asleep,” Jac tried to lie.

The old man smirked. “I thought you were more important than that.”

Jac realized his teeth had clamped down on the still smoldering cigarette. He loosened his jaw and managed to return the smile. Beneath his hat, his eyes shot to Wiktor, rounding what feebly passed for a stable in the fort and heading towards a staircase.

“Ya know, you’re raght.” Jac steeled himself and returned to the door. Not wanting to further irritate the man within, Jac pushed open the door and stepped inside.

It was a bit like walking into Hell.

The room was dark except for a furnace on the right wall. The flames of the furnace cast shadows and heat throughout the room, creating an oppressive atmosphere. As Jac looked, he noticed that fueling the fire were stacks and stacks of wanted posters, all featuring Jac Steele’s own face.

“Sit down.” Jac jumped as the Stag Lord’s voice rolled out of the shadows. The man was sitting bolt upright beneath a mass of furs. Jac glanced around, searching for a seat. All he found were dozens of sacks overflowing with gold and gems. Inhaling the smoke again, Jac chose one against the wall near the door and sat. He reached down and drew one of the coins from the sack, rolling it over his fingers.

“What do you want?” The Stag Lord’s head was down, as though he were watching Jac through the eyes of the skull he wore, rather than his own. The coin rolled faster across the fingers of Jac’s glove.

“Ah know you ain’t seen mah men outside, but we’re bettah dan anyone else you got in dis place.” Jac paused, waiting for a response. When none came he continued, “Now Ah’m thinkin’ we deserve somethin’ mo’ like 90% o’ our take.” The Stag Lord stared and Jac felt the heat grow. He was about to go on when the Stag Lord interrupted.

“Drink.” He held out the bottle Jac had given. Jac swallowed and then swallowed a mouthful of the wine. Thank the gods I drank that antitoxin. He watched as the Stag Lord took back the bottle and then downed a full half of it in a single swallow.

“Youll get 10% extra for 2 months. After that, I’ll make you a lieutenant, but you have to do something to earn it.”

What?" Jac asked.

“You came in with another man. He looked strong. Kill him.”

The coin stopped spinning for a moment. Then Jac continued. “Ah came wit four men. Ah’ll kill ‘em all but den dat won’t leave me wit none. Leave your army da smaller.” The man on the bed rose, throwing back one of the furs to reveal a massive recurved bow. Jac’s coin spun faster.

“Do I know you?” Jac casually tugged the brim of his hat lower and failed to keep from glancing at the piles of his picture sitting five feet from him.

“No…” There was no way not to see through the lie, Jac was sure. The coin was flying. The Stag Lord drew back an arrow and knocked it.

“I do know you.” Jac dropped the coin back in the sack.

“You remind me of my father.” The cigarette fell from Jac’s mouth in his haste.

“Raght, so we’re goin’ to go wit’ dat 90% and Ah’ll get outta your way.” He lunged for the latch and pulled the door open, bursting out of the heat and into the open air. Akiros was waiting.

“Ah got 90%,” Jac boasted, feigning calm. Akiros shook his head.

“Lieutenants get 75%, same as everyone else. They just have more responsibilities.” Jac would have retorted were it not for an earth shuddering crash at that moment. Jac looked up just in time to see Wiktor leap from the second floor onto one of the bandits…

Session 20

Looking back, one of the most pivotal points in the development of the Greenbelt was the inevitable confrontation between the Chartered and the bandits lead by the Stag Lord. In the years that followed many tales would be told, songs sung and drams performed, that attempted to portray the heroic actions taken by the five adventurers. However, none of them (including my previous writings on the subject) ever came close to representing the truth of what happened that day. The tales tell of a carefully planned infiltration of the bandits’ monastery headquarters. I picture now only the vaguest notions of a plan, careful or otherwise.

When the party woke that morning it was with high spirits. The hunter the group rescued provided a wealth of information concerning the Stag Lord’s operation. Armed with this intelligence Reiner, Jac and Wiktor decided to press forward despite the mysterious disappearance of Liluye the day before. The decision was made to pose as perspective bandit recruits seeking to join the Stag Lord’s operation. Our disguises were meticulously implemented. Reiner did not shave that morning and each of us chose eminently plausible aliases. There was little doubt that we would be recognized as anything other than ruthless bandits.

The plan worked surprisingly well considering we were not immediately shot as we advanced up the exposed path to the gates. Once there we let Jac speak as our leader as he appeared the most bandity. To my great surprise the Stag Lord’s lieutenant, Akiros, seemed to accept our story and was willing to let us leave alive. This was not enough for Jac who pressed our advantage and wormed his way into an audience with the Stag Lord himself. Sadly the bandits were a suspicious lot and only allowed Jac and Wiktor to enter the fort. All probably would have been lost there except that Reiner, showing impressive insight, managed to flirt with the creepy knife loving bandit we learned was named Dovan and get us let in as well.

As we approached the Stag Lord’s monastery fortress I prepared a number of magical effects that would hopefully allow us to keep the upper hand. One such spell was one that I had learned only days before. I set up a message relay between myself and the rest of the party that would allow us to stay in contact. The set up was not ideal as I was the only one able to both send and receive messages and would have to pass along any whispered missives meant for the other members of our band. What follows is an accounting, as best I can recall, of the messages I received.

“There are six that I can see on the ground floor.”
“At least three on the towers.”
“Akiros and the one in the corner look dangerous.”
“I think some are unhappy here. Maybe we can turn them.”
“There is some kind of locked door on the west side.”
“The Stag Lord is coming out. He looks drunk.”
“That didn’t go like I thought. I will try and speak with him again.”
“The fat one looks like a good candidate. I will try and lead him off so we can talk.”
“Vedal, he’s talking to you. Wave and play along.”
“He’s not answering the door.”
“Wait, here he comes.”
“My gods it’s hot in here.”
“I don’t care what he wants to do to you. Try to keep him busy.”
“This is bad. This is bad.”
“Now!” This last was punctuated by a loud crash from the main hall and the sound of many heavy things falling from a great height. The sounds most associated with a successful attack.

Session 20 - Wiktor

The bandits face lights up as he begins organizing the small piles of papers and dice in front of him. A neglected dog given warmth and companionship.

Well, you see, we roll up characters, and we adventure in a setting that I run. When there are battles, you roll your dice and add the appropriate modifiers, and that determines whether or not you hit my enemies and how hard you hit.

This is no game Wiktor has seen before. He picks up one of the dice rolling it around his hand. The edges are worn. It is used daily.

I do not understand Fat Neil. Why do you play?

Momentary confusion gives way to an intake of breath. A rolling of eyes. Wiktor is about to be talked to as a child.

For the sake of adventure, silly! You can slay dragons

I have seen dragons slain.

and rescue the princess

I have taken a wife.

and if you get high enough level, change the world

Wiktor nods slowly.

I understand. You play so that you may control that which is outside of your hands.

Well, yes, I guess. I just play to have fun. Here, let’s roll up a character for you.

Very well.

Fat Neil can be persuaded to join them in the fight. Wiktor knows he cannot do it. He looks to Akiros and sees him deep in conversation with Jac. He spits and whispers a message to Vedal.

Get Akiros to open the gate.

Vedal and Reiner stand just forty feet away but could have been forty miles for all their use now. To fight they must be inside. To be inside the gate must lift. To lift the gate without death a member of the Stag Lords army must do it. Akiros can also be persuaded not to fight. Wiktor has seen his soul and knows.

Akiros will fight and die. Neil will die. Jac can only save one. Better it be Akiros.

Wiktor, what class do you want to play? You can be a cunning thief, a brave warrior, a mystical sage, or a holy prophet.

I am none of these things Fat Neil.

Yes, but you can pretend to be any of them!

Very well. I will be the mystic.

Sage.

Yes.

The table is too out in the open. Wiktor sees the battle happen. Fat Neil stands in confusion. Wiktor uses him as cover. Jac is ends Akiros and falls to the Stag Lord. Wiktor kills two men before Neil understands. The Stag Lord kills Fat Neil as he blocks the path. Wiktor kills the third man when the arrow pierces his skull. Darkness.

Even upstairs the scene ends the same. There are too many men to fight. Too many unknowns. Wiktor looks up to the wooden bridge so fragile it is to an old man as an old man is to the Stag Lord. The wooden bridge that continues directly over top of the other table of bandits. Wiktor looks at Fat Neil again. He is soft and has not seen war not seen blood flow down his chest and his arms blood so dark and fresh it is black upon his skin. But Fat Neil is large as a small boulder. Wiktor looks to the bridge once more.

Session 19

The words hit Jac like a club. Had he not been leaning against the wall of the hunter’s small cave, the smuggler might have actually staggered. It didn’t help that Wiktor, wrapped in his chains like always and standing nearby, laughed. Reiner stared at Jac with his bright blue eyes, the glare promising later interrogation as to the nature of these crimes.

“Interesting,” was the Vedal’s only reaction. The halfling then returned to scribbling in his little book. Jac sorely wished Lilu was here so that someone who had known him more than a few days would speak in his defense. He was surrounded by strangers.

Jac’s hat, tilted over his face as was the smuggler’s habit when trying to get more information than he wanted to give, concealed the shock from Jonathon Wood and the hunter went on,

“Yeah, there’s a five thousand gold piece reward out for the guy. I’m kinda surprised he hasn’t joined up with the Stag Lord yet, to be honest.”

Again, Wood’s words snatched Jac’s thoughts. Five thousand! That’s as much as I lost getting caught by… I need to find a way of getting that gold and walking away to spend it. Maybe Algie and his friends can get me something to make myself appear dead for a bit. Of course, that doesn’t solve the problem of…

“Who did you kill?” Jac’s thoughts were interrupted by Wiktor’s growling voice muttering under a description of Jac’s image on the posters.

“Those do not count.” Wiktor’s words thankfully interrupted Jac. Well, not recent enough to be relevant. Besides, Theo killed that one and the I didn’t mean the other.

“Ah ain’t raped none, either.” As soon as the words were out, a stream of images flashed through Jac’s mind, starting with a blond prostitute too drunk to know she hadn’t been paid. That kind of thing don’t count, though, do it? Jac thought before the mental parade drowned out his feeble argument. “Well, Ah mean, uh… Not really. Sorta.” His voice sounded feeble and wavering. It clearly convinced Wiktor even less than it did Jac, himself.

“Why, do you know the guy?” The hunter glanced from face to face, but Reiner’s voice echoed in the small cave.

“He is Jac Steele.” The soldier nodded at Jac.

“Oh.” Jonathon Wood looked afraid again. I just kept Reiner from killing you for being a bandit and now you’re looking at me like that? Jac didn’t speak, but Jonathon continued. “So you’re off to join the Stag Lord now, are ya?”

“No,” said Reiner. “We are going to kill him.”

“Oh.” Wood was no warrior, that much was clear from the fact that Jac and his group had rescued the hunter. The battle with the grigs had hurt the chartered group more than it should have, but in the end Wiktor’s strength had dispatched the fey.

The conversation turned toward tactics and information before everyone retired for the night. Jac and Reiner took first watch. Not overeager to discuss possible crimes with a man willing, even eager, to kill anyone so much as suspected of banditry, Jac kept the conversation to more planning.

The conversation was interrupted by a scream from Wiktor.

The man was thrashing in his chains. His hands were clasped together so tight that his nails were cutting into his hands as rage drove him into convulsions. Reiner stood over him for a moment as the chained man began to wake and calm down again.

“That’s why he wears the chains,” Reiner said pointedly to Jac, before returning to watch outside.

“Yeah, think they maght be a good ahdea, now,” Jac muttered. Wood and Vedal were both sitting upright, staring frightfully. Jac knelt next to Wiktor, who was still panting heavily. “Y’all raght, now?” he asked.

“Yes.” The reply came between breaths.

“All raght, then.” He turned to the hunter. “You can go back t’ sleep now. Ah’m sure ‘e does this all the time. ’e’s safe now.” Jac wondered how reassuring he was being. The answer came when the bedrolls were dragged a bit farther away.

I hope we’ll be able to get enough rest after that, Jac thought. After all, tomorrow we attack the Stag Lord.

Session 18

The zombie rises from the water as reality takes leave. Dread fills the vacuum piercing the hearts of the Chartered as surely as the death cries of a child covered in boiling pitch. Without pause the signpost smashes into the face of the abomination. Wiktor has seen the result of his work before and closes his eyes for the gore that follows. Force causes pressure. Skull explodes outward as it caves at the point of impact. Bone and brain blind killer. Killer is killed.

There is no wet sensation of pulp splattering upon live skin. Wiktor opens his eyes.

The upper half of the post still flies into the river as the lower half falls from his hands. The long dead face in front of him is ruined the jaw hanging by tendons. Black water seeps over his face into his eyes down his jaw despoiling the soil it is soaked into. When it passes the face is reformed in some grim visage. A grin.

The bloodrage fills him and everything grows cold. His hands now claws rip and reave through the beast. Water pours forth and reconstitutes flesh but it is too slow to stop the damage too slow to stop the inevitable conclusion of Wiktors fury.

A ranseur dripping filth slices upward. It was always there and yet never. The river reverses course and flows upstream as the krakenskin breastplate is sliced through like sackcloth and still it continues on through skin and fat and muscle. The end of the slash casts blood upon Jac who now stands at his side. He has been there for some time and yet time has no meaning now.

The creature forces eye contact with Wiktor and the fallen bridge is ablaze. The past and present move simultaneously before his eyes as two sheets held before a flame but what is on the other side is no flame. Only cold featureless impersonal white light. To see it so close frightens him more than the risen monstrosity. But he was not always a monstrosity.

This was his bridge. Bandits. He is fighting on the bridge. His dogs lay dead or dying. More arrows are embedded in him than most training dummies. Still he fights. Still he wins. Bandit after bandit fall beneath his spear. The roof of his house explodes in flame. Two more points of fire. Eyes beneath a stag helm.

A mighty bow is drawn back. Many men could not pull this string even an inch let alone the full span the Stag Lord draws. The arrow screams toward its target and runs clean through a bandit before burrowing into the bridgekeepers neck. The force lifts him off the ground and carries him several feet before he collapses in a broken heap. A doll discarded in some forgotten corner.

The white begins to burn through the paper and and Wiktor runs. Without form or substance he flees the omnipresent whiteness that looks upon him from all directions.

The past snaps and he is fighting in the present again. Reiner is on horse beside him shouting words that are muddled. He turns and gallops off. The creature in front of him does not break eye contact.

BRINGHIM. BRINGTHESTAG LORD’S HEAD TO ME. I WISH TO FEASTUPONHISFACE.

Words. Wiktor tries to form words but he is slipping away again. The river now runs in both directions and the water crashes away from the shore. The past is seen over the present once more. The cold white begins to burn away at the film of vision between he and it.

The corpse is heaved into the water as bandits loot and celebrate. The dogs are killed with a hate and cruelty only vengeance can summon forth. The Stag Lord motions to a lieutenant before riding off. It is morning and the bandits begin to replace the destroyed bridge. The fallen bridgekeeper pulls himself from the water. One by one the bandits are tortured before all find death under the churning river waters.

The light burns through and is upon him. The terrible absence of heat chills Wiktor even from afar as it closes in on all directions. He flees but there is no escape. It engulfs him and his body is ripped apart until there is nothing left. His mind and soul are feasted upon with the alacrity of a man starved. There is no sight no sounds no feeling but pain without equal. Without time it lasts a second and an eternity.

It is the present and the light is gone. The halfman stands over him his wand in hand. The Chartered have agreed to bring the head to the bridgekeeper who is no longer visible.

Those final moments play again and again in his nightmares that night. Others saw the visions but none saw the white light. This is how Wiktor knows. The evil no longer slumbers dreaming within him. It wakes.

Session 17

Session 16

Of course I met the two new members a few days before the survivors of the original group. After delaying the acquisition process for the Greenbelt Charter for over three weeks, I was finally summoned to the Mayor’s Palace where I was introduced to Reiner Schreibock and Wiktor Bergstrom. Despite all my travels, these two humans made the strangest pair I had ever seen. One came adorned in trappings of wealth and strength, a model of human power. The other came dressed in simple garments that served only to highlight the heavy chains and manacles binding his hands and arms. It seemed obvious that the second, more heavily muscled man was a slave of the wealthier human. Though this grated on my sensibility I knew that, surrounded as I was by the Mayor’s guards, there was little I could do about the situation. Yet when the Mayor announced that these two were to be my new traveling partners I had to object.

“I’m sorry Lord Mayor, but I will not travel with a slave or a slaver in my party!”

To my great surprise it was not the Mayor or even the wealthy man that responded to my outburst. Instead the chained man turned his head slowly to meet my eyes and said very clearly, “I am not a slave.”

For a time no one in the room moved. I stared up at the muscled man’s and held his gaze. I searched his face, hidden behind the mass of stringy black hair, for some sign of the game being played here. Shockingly, I saw only sincerity and determination in his eyes. This proved too intriguing to pass up.

“My apologies My Lord, I will happily accompany these two into the Stolen Lands.”

If any of the people in the room were put off my sudden change of heart they did not show it and early the next morning we were packed and ready to begin the journey south. If I thought the previous day’s meeting strange I was in for another shock when my traveling companions arrived at the city gates with not only themselves and their mounts but a wagon loaded with a curious set of metal cages. When I asked the wealthy man, who had identified himself as Reiner, what the cages were for he said simply that they were for ‘holding his finds.’ I decided not to press the issue.
Wiktor, the name I had since learned for the muscled man, was still in chains.

The journey itself was easy enough. While the two humans at first seemed put off by having a Halfling in the party slowing them down, by the end of the first day my infectious smile won them over. The first night we made camp in a small clearing just off the road. After an all too light evening meal I sat down and tried to get to know my new companions.

“So Reiner,” I asked, “have you and Wiktor been traveling together for a long time?"

Session 15

I tracked the troll from the ruined caravan. The carnage there was horrific. Half eaten men and beasts. A wagon thrown across the field. Another wagon burning. And a stench over it all, enough to make me prefer suffocation to breathing it in.

We managed to sneak wide around the monster and still reach Oleg’s first. Thing was bee-lining for the fort. Must have learned about it from the caravan. Or else it’s sense of smell was good enough to detect all the people from so far away.

Lilu sent that bird of hers, hook, ahead of us with a note, warning the Irregulars. They were already prepared by the time we got there. Fires lit, buckets of pitch, guards spread along the south walls. Tony even managed to fix up the catapults on the towers. I started to feel better about our chances in this thing.

Then the troll came into view. Thing was as tall as the walls and budding. That’s what Lilu called it, anyway. Seems to be how the things reproduce, growing another troll out of their bodies the same way the regrow lost limbs. Whole thing strikes me as unnatural.

Couldn’t let the thing survive, of course. It seemed to pause when it saw all the fire. Smarter than I would have thought, then. So I started insulting it. Well, it’s mother. Not sure if it even has what could be called a mother, but if we’re going to start building something in these Stolen Lands we can’t have something that dangerous roaming around. Anyway, it worked. Thing got pissed and charged.

I’ll be honest, I’m glad we had the Irregulars. Don’t know how much account Lilu and I could have made of ourselves without them. Crossbows seemed useless. Even shot a few magic bolts at the thing, but they all just bounced off it’s damned hide.

What worked, though, were those catapults. Well, catapult. Tony was the only one who knew how to work one. Hit the troll a couple times with flaming boulders. I threw pitch on the thing and Lilu threw fire. Girl gets more magic every day, but still acts like she doesn’t know what’s happening. Can’t tell if she’s trying to play me for a fool or really just doesn’t get it.

The giant thing managed to smash through the wall, skewer that dwarf (Larrick I think his name is), and throw Sasha half-way across the fort. Jhod broke ranks, but did his job. Man seems to be a bit reckless when he sets his sights on something. Still, he kept everyone alive, which is what we needed.

Managed to bring the troll down in the end. Smashed up the store room, but there wasn’t anything there, anyway. It got stuck doing that for a while, so we kept hitting the thing until it dropped. Then I threw more pitch on the flames, just to be sure.

Had a nice little celebration afterward, I think. I don’t remember too much about it. Something about Tony and paperwork. I think its about making an alliance with the kobolds.

Speaking of which, we’re back at the mine. Took the route Bannon said he’d take to the fort and didn’t find anything. Now, though, there’s something that worries me worse than the troll did.

Session 14

The rain had ceased a day ago but stone-grey clouds still hung heavy in the sky. Jac sat outside the entrance to the kobolds’ silver mine and slowly lit a cigarette. Every movement still burned, even though the smuggler had cleaned off the acid.

That’s what I get for attempting heroics, Jac thought, knowing even as he did that he would still continue to foolishly help these people who had become his friends. He glanced at the white stag standing beside him. It carried everything Jac had taken from the defeated shaman, but he was looking to make sure Liluye hadn’t left. He was sure if she did the animal would follow her. His gaze slipped to the point she had disappeared into the hills.

Lilu had her bow drawn, trying to lose herself in the hunt. Trying to avoid the anger she felt welling inside her. This was a contest, a pitting of predator against prey and a means of feeding herself and those with her. This was not a way of venting frustration or taking her anger out on innocent animals. It was a distraction from her rage at the wild child, Kelak, who had foolishly thrown himself into a pool of acid to retrieve a simple axe. Her shot went wide as the impulse to anger caused her to miss for the first time today.

As the bird that was Lilu’s prey took to the air, Kelak lay unconscious in the silver mines, recovering from his burns. A part of him knew, even in his slumbering state, that he should have died in that pool. Another part of him, metallic and cold, worked to keep the body alive. It had replaced his eyes, it would repair the rest of him. Except the hair, that served no function.

Over the bald boy with his new-pink flesh, Ser Bannon White prayed, pausing only to meticulously document everything the Navaske blood was doing to Kelak. Bannon had learned much of these mechanical monsters from the north and west, enough to be rightly afraid. Wisdom told him he, and the world at large, would need to be prepared should these constructs ever emerge from Numeria. In the meantime, though, Kelak was in the knight’s care and Bannon could only hope that it was the will of Abadar that the child continue.

Time passed. Lilu returned and exchanged words with Jac. She needed to return to the trading post. She needed time to grieve for the brother she had lost nearly a week before. He agreed and offered to come with her. The wilderness could be dangerous.

The two of them went to Bannon, interrupting his reverie. The knight wanted to return with the smuggler and the elf. He had letters waiting. Letters pertaining to the danger he was studying. Kelak could not be abandoned, however, both because of his condition and the threat within him. In the end Bannon stayed with the boy, but he would not remain here until the others returned. He would meet them at the trading post when Kelak recovered, taking the most direct route possible to get there swiftly. Outside, the clouds threatened to rain again.

Smuggler and elf, both experienced in the wilderness, set out. Their journey would not be swift, but it would be safe. Knight and child, one a herald of civilization and the other a stranger to these lands, remained. It took a day for Kelak to awaken, even with the power of a god and the power of machines working to heal him. Then the two prepared to leave. The new Dragon King Mikmek of the Monitor Lizard clan sent his second and third best warriors to accompany them through the wilds. Bannon, burgeoning priest of Abadar, thought to build a compass to guide them. He set a course north, to mad Bokken’s hut.

Jac urged Lilu to haste, wanting her to have her chance to mourn, but the two of them were cautious, giving wide berth and leaving warning to the perils they encountered. Lilu, though, slowed, and confessed to Jac that she no longer felt the need for sorrow. Her brother had hurt her before he died, and she carried that pain far deeper than she did any sadness at his loss. He was like a stranger to her. Instead, she wished to use the time, waiting for Bannon, to explore more of the surrounding lands. The knight had told them to expect him in a week and a half, so Jac acquiesced. The two spent the next few days camping, almost leisurably, and mapping the area around the Old Sycamore, resting place of Liluye’s brother.

Bannon led his group north. Even armored, he and Kelak were nearly as swift as Chastity, the barbarian’s horse. The two kobolds rode as Bannon, Kelak, and the dog, Bismark, ran alongside. They made excellent time, given Kelak’s blindness and Bannon’s inexperience, but as night fell and Bannon’s sight, too, diminished, they were forced to make camp. Bannon forbade Kelak his usual fire because it might draw predators or bandits. Instead, he set Bismark to guard while the men, exhausted from running slept. The wilderness could be dangerous.

Bannon was awoken just after midnight by the barking of his dog. Something had approached their camp. Thankful he’d slept in his armor, Bannon took up his sword and began scouting, blindly through the dark. The night was moonless and the clouds were heavy. Behind him, Kelak slept in a small hole he had dug himself with his axe, worn out past even his limits by the ordeals he had endured.

Bannon crept forward, parting the brush with his sword. Something stirred in front of him and a heavy impact collided with his breastplate, knocking him back. Unable to see, he stepped back a pace, making no threatening moves, unable to see and unwilling to aggravate a potential threat. Bismark was still barking in Bannon’s tent. The thing slammed into Bannon’s chest again, harder this time, and a deep lowing came from the darkness. Bannon swung, but felt his sword bite only air. He shouted for Kelak.

The boy awoke. The Navaske inside him were untroubled by the night, but their range was limited. Sure that nothing was attacking him directly, Kelak rose from his pit and ran into the darkness. Before him a creature loomed. His eyes which were not eyes showed him a beast like that the wise-woman, Lilu, rode. Bannon’s cry rang out of the black beyond Kelak’s sight. The boy hefted his axe and gave a primal cry as he swung at the horse-with-horns.

Battle erupted around the campsite. Bannon tried to flee the stag that was assailing him, only to encounter another. Kobolds were shouting in tongue of dragons, futilely attacking the animals. A dog’s barking was cut suddenly short as a Bannon’s tent was trampled. Kelak’s horse was screaming, kicking wildly and being mauled for it’s efforts. Bannon was blind in the dark, swinging wildly. Kelak was roaring, taking blow after blow from the beasts he battled.

Miles to the east, Jac slept peacefully while Lilu sat, staring at the fire and lost in thought. Wander, her mount, woke with a start and looked at Lilu. The beast was about to voice the doom it felt, but saw something in Lilu that made it go quiet. She would learn of the tragedy later and could mourn it then.

Miles to the west, Kelak’s cries shifted. An antler had pierced his gut. The navaske blood was already tasked to it’s limit, working to keep the young warrior standing, despite the wounds he had suffered. He was lifted into the air and tossed from the stag’s head. Blood and metal poured from the wound. Nothing could save him now. The darkness, kept at bay by what his body held, closed in. He was blind again. And cold. So cold and so dark. He ended.

Bannon’s armor was battered and he himself was bruised. He fell back step by step, sword always ready to parry blows he could not see. Though he couldn’t be sure, he seemed to now be facing three of the animals. He could hear them in their frenzy, lowing and lashing out wildly. A kobold was behind him, shouting warnings and guiding the warrior. Bannon called for a fire and then screamed as something hard, probably a hoof, came down on his lower jaw, shattering it and tearing it loose.

The kobold could not get the fire started. Kelak had fallen. The beasts had even murdered Kelak’s horse. Bannon could not flee. He knew what fate would befall him. In a last, desperate act, he swung out with his sword, past caring if it even hit. His mind raced. His body was knocked to the ground. A swift prayer to Abadar raced through his head just as he felt the hooves fall.

Something moved outside Lilu and Jac’s camp. The elf was on her feet before she could think, reaching for her bow. A fox ran from behind a tree and disappeared into the brush. She sighed, and resumed her watch.

A Good Chief

The boy lay on the cold stone floor of the cavern, his right arm clamped in an iron grip around the inert form of the Kobold Witch-Priest Tartuk. Steam rose from the Numerian’s body with an audible chemical hiss, his breath coming in heavy gasps and he dragged his way from the still-frothing pool of acid with his free arm.

Kelak!

Banon’s arm reached out towards the boy, grasping it high on his bicep. As it did so, the skin sloughed away with a sickening wet noise, leaving clean, healthy-looking pink flesh beneath. As the knight turned to attend to other matters, the boy let himself fall to his chest, a heavy sigh escaping him.

The Wise Woman came – she scolded the boy, but smiled all the while. He wanted to listen – why did she look happy with him when she spoke with anger? He could not focus on the words so well. His skin felt like he had held it in a flame.

She pointed at the Witch Tartuk. She wanted him to release it.

I… I do not know. It is a witch, and may not be dead.

She laughed at this. Not cruel. A happy laugh. A kind laugh.

I think he is dead, Kelak. Maybe you can let go?

The boy had heard of a witch having its head removed and still taking a man’s heart, but it was a wise woman and koalakeesi ’s job to know about these things. He tentatively released the body.

As she tended to the disposal of the witch’s earthly form, the boy gradually stood, testing his body, and looking around.

He seemed more-or-less fine. The pain in his skin had faded to a dull ache, and had almost disappeared completely near where Banon had pulled away the injured skin. Perhaps that had done some good. Hunter-Jak was at the side of the battlefield, most likely cleaning a kill, or taking his share of his slain’s possessions, as was his right as warrior.

Mikmek, however, caught the Numerian’s attention. He beat his chest his fellow kobold, the one who was his chief, and they cried out at each other in their rasping language, swords drawn. Banon stood by, brow furrowed in concern. Limping over, Banon explained that Mikmek had challenged his chief to leadership of the tribe. It was as the young wastelander suspected – with their numbers depleted, the Old Chief had less backing, and had also shown great weakness in falling in battle. It was right of Mikmek to challenge him, if he wished to lead. He would be a strong chief.

As the kobolds fought, Banon ignorantly tried to defend Mikmek when the Old Chief struck a sneaky blow against the young warrior – perhaps he thought it violated the Honor Duel? regardless, the knight lay where he fell, no longer interfering. Then the duel turned poorly for Mikmek, and there was a bright flash of light, and the Numerian saw no more.

Gasps. An animal roar and hiss. The round of flesh ripping. Heavy breathing. Voices raised in the Kobold tongue – Mikmek and others, not the Old Chief. The boy’s eyes hurt terribly, making it difficult to concentrate. His tribemates talking to each other. The soft, but distinctly dancing footsteps of the Wise Woman receding into the distance, until he could no longer hear them. Banon speaking the kobold tongue to Mikmek, and then the young kobold warrior saying his name, pressing his tiny clawed hands into the boy’s, and saying his name.

Mikmek led the Numerian’s hands to another form, not unlike his own, but more animal. A lizard, like in the ash-wastes of his home, only larger. It stood to reason that the kobolds would keep such beasts as steeds, as men rode horses. Mikmek motioned and told the boy to hold on to the lizard, riding it as one does a very slippery, writhing horse.

After some time, they halted in another place, still in the cavers, the boy’s eyes still burning and blind from the bright flash. There was much shouting in the kobold tongue from few voices. Banon told the boy to kneel – that Mikmek was now chief of his tribe. The boy, unsure of where he was, and what dangers were about, but meaning no disrespect, sat on the cavern floor.

Slowly, sight returned. Mikmek stood on a stone table. He wore a great headdress of office, and had seemingly claimed a wife-kobold. The boy was right. He would make a good chief.

Session 12 - Side Story

The air was frosty and bitter cold. Lilu‘s breath turned to fog. She and Jac had ridden ahead to find Mikmek. The warrior had stolen the ivory idol of Old Sharptooth and ridden ahead on his kobold-sized mount (a sheep they’d ordered in special for him from Restov). Bannon and Kelak, burdened by armor and poor vision, were left long behind. So far, there was no sign of Mikmek. The cold was so bitter that Liluye had wrapped her old shaggy bear pelt around herself to keep warm. In the darkness, Serenity’s warpaint made her look like a mobile skeleton-horse.

Wander’s enormous antlers crested out like the prongs of slingshot before Liluye’s eyes. Gradually, the space between the megaloceros’s antlers turned blue like watery mist:

Liluye was slippery and sleek. She could move faster than she ever knew was possible. Her body was strong, one single giant muscle. There were four other fish in the water with her. Four silver trout and a black minnow. One of the trout floated upside-down, dead, buffeted about by the current.

The current is a bit strong but
nothing I can’t
manage

Liluye flared out her fins and caught a strong undertow, gliding like a hot knife through butter. The other fish followed her effortlessly in a tiny chartered school. They swam together. But quickly the water started to taste bad in her gasping open fish mouth.

The water is poisonous here
the current is too strong
turn
back
now

Liluye banked sharply and began to swim upstream. The school followed in a motion so immediate it was hard to tell which fish initiated the movement. The water turned sickly warm. The current became much more powerful, actively hurling against her as she tried to swim back. A terrible heat rose behind her, but she couldn’t look back to see what it was.

just keep swimming
just keep swimming

Liluye could see in her peripheral vision that the other trout were no longer keeping pace with her. The noise of water flushing was deafening. The water had begun to boil and turn a faded pink color. The druid could feel her scales peeling off as she cooked alive.

H U R R Y U P O R Y O U D I E T O N I G H T

Liluye pushed her fishy body to the max. Her gills flared desperately, sucking in more of the sour, boiling water. She could see cool, clean blue water in the distance, but safety shrunk into the beyond. The current flipped her around. The druid was forced her to see what it was she fled. It was a giant lamprey’s maw; a circular disc lined with a million fangs. Chunks of trout flesh were impaled on its teeth. The current sucked her into the predator’s mouth and she was consumed.

Session 12

The curse of Old Sharptooth was upon the big folk but they did not know. They could not fathom the power of the First Kobold, his insatiable thirst for blood, his terrible vengeance.

But Mikmek knew. Mikmek, son of Mushrak, Auspicious General of Chief Sootscale’s Eighth Best Kobolds, knew. That night he crept into the wise woman’s pack. He took up the cursed idol. He could feel his claws yellow as he wrapped them around the ivory neck of Old Sharptooth. He could feel the blight upon him.

Great White Ape King Ban’Ohn, Chief of Oleg’s Trading Fortress had promised to see Mikmek’s quest through to the end. Mikmek had at first thought Chief Ban’Ohn weak and beady-eyed, even for a big folk. But Chief Ban’Ohn wore the metal dress for good reason. The tribe would bleed without Chief Ban’Ohn and his god of shiny-perfect-shiny-things. When Chief Ban’Ohn raced off to champion his tribe against the Yelling Monster In the Rain, Mikmek had no choice. Mikmek broke the fellowship.

Ash-Ram the Mightiest Ram thundered across the plain. Mikmek was alone. Mikmek had been alone since the bottom of Old Sycamore. There, tortured among the bodies of his Eighth Best Legion, Mikmek learned the meaning of loneliness, of failure. Mikmek refused to fail again.

Days passed. The cold seized Mikmek’s very core. Ash-Ram wheezed and stumbled. Death would soon close its doors. Mikmek knew this was his curse: to never again see the Silver Halls of his ancestors, to never be redeemed for his failure, to never again drink in the eyes of his beloved desert flower Half-Pint. The wind broke back across his face and brave Mikmek wept, content that his last memory should be his Half-Pint’s face. As Mikmek boldly plodded what were certain to be his final steps the third-best warrior appeared, as if from a dream.

The third best warrior and the wise woman asked Mikmek to reunite with the tribe. They feared no curse. They called Tartuk deceiver. They called Old Sharptooth false. Chief Ban’Ohn said Mikmek must unite the tribes to deliver the Sootscales from fear and doom. Kelak offered an exchange of wives that the tribes might be of one blood. Mikmek’s great heart, once weighed by fear, swelled with a Dragon’s Strength.

Mikmek knew he must be strong and wise like the Monitor Lizard. He must free his people, and by freeing them free all people from the false terror and fear of the Old Gods. Mikmek now knew that in the hearts of Heroes there was no room for fear. Mikmek now knew that not even the gods themselves could curse the spirit of The Great United Tribe.

Mikmek rode for the Glittering Hills high atop Ash-Ram the Mightiest Ram. The sun glinted in his eyes. The totem of Monitor Lizard sparkled around his neck. Mikmek, son of Mushrak, Auspicious General of Chief Sootscale’s Eighth Best Kobolds, friend to the Big Folk of the North, Uniter of the Tribes of Ape and Dragon had returned. He would not depart until he was triumphant: his honor and his tribes—both tribes—restored to glory.

Session 11 - Side Story

She was smaller, fluffy, and walked on four legs. She was alone in colorless woods; tree trunks were gray and their leaves parchment. There were two deep chasms set into an old tree stump in front of her, each only as big around as a sword’s hilt. The druid could tell that these holes were deeper than the ocean.

Session 8

One more step. Just one more step. Another step. One last step. I can see smoke. We’re near the crazy kook’s hut. Just a few more steps and we’ll get to the top of the hill. My legs hurt. My feet hurt. One more step. Again. Another. Almost to the top and then we’ll just lie down and roll all the way down the other side. Step. Step. Have to reach Bokken before the poison gets me. Told them the temple wouldn’t help. Nothing’s coming from Brevoy. Ow. Rock. Keep walking. Only hope is Bokken. Delay poison. So tired. Almost. There. Need more time. There! I can see the hut. Oh…

I was screaming. It was me. The pain is unbearable, even with the medicine. Oh gods, this is incredible. And not in a good way. I can’t see straight. I can’t control my body. Oh hells, I’m going to pass out, again. “Bannon!” I hope he can hear me. I can barely hear myself. “Bannon! Wait a day for next medicine. Don’t waste…”

Laughing. I’m laughing and dancing. She looks so beautiful in that dress. I’ve never been happier. This is the party! This party goes so well. I remember it. I remember Sable talking to me about Theo. Why did it get dark? The base? Why is the party in the base? What party? We never have any parties here. Well, Theo does. “Sable, you have to listen to me. We do all the work for that money and then Theo goes and blows it all on those ‘friends’ of his.” The door opens. Theo is in a bed with a red-haired girl. I’m just a kid. I’ve never seen this before. She looks so strange sitting on top of him like that, but I can’t take my eyes off the bouncing. Theo yells and I…

I’m screaming again. Bokken is trying to smash my head open with a rock while he sets my body on fire. Bannon robs me. I’m dreaming. Bannon’s the only one I trust, besides that Lilu…

Lilu smiles at me. A white lily is in her hair. Her hair turned black. The smile is Malia’s. Malia’s lovely lips, ruby against her bronzed skin. Her eyes shine, the way they always do. We’re dancing again and her fingers twine in mine. We’re lying on the grass. A hill. With a tree on it. Its sunset. We only ate half that picnic. All that food’s going to go to waist. Malia leans over me and suddenly I don’t care. Blond hair falls across my face. Blond? How did I get to Oleg’s? I’m behind the stables and this isn’t Malia! This is… what’s her name? I can’t even remember all their names. Not since Malia… Delrus is screaming for help.

No, I’m screaming again. Was I awake before this? Was there a moment when I didn’t feel like I was already in the hells? I can’t… I can’t remember anymore. Gods, please let it end? Take me! Let me die! I don’t care anymore! Just end it! What good are you if you can’t kill a man when he begs for it?!? I’m so tired…

Everything’s on fire. The rooftops burn, but I’ve been in this position before. I’ve got my gold already. I still remember how to get in and out of Galt, even though its been years. I haven’t done this since I met Malia. Smoke like black clouds. Clouds hang over crowds. She’s speaking. No. No. I won’t watch this. I’ve seen this too many times. She brings them too much hope. Silver flashes. Its an eel. Oh gods. Not the pools. I won’t go into the water. Not like they did. Get away. I have to get away. Run. I have to get safe. What am I talking about? That’s why I’m here. This isn’t safe. This got me poisoned. Here got me killed. I’m going to die. I’m dreaming again. The poison is going to finish me. Bokken was no help. Listening to the others was no help. Cleansing the temple fixed nothing. Jhod couldn’t help. Lilu couldn’t help. There’s nothing in Restov that would help. We should have used our time better. My time. Oh gods. I’m about to die. Bannon is holding my hand. There’s a ring in it. The ring. Malia. I wish I could see you again when I die. I’m so sorry you won’t be there. Mother, will you be waiting for me? Is father still alive? Is Sable? I’d even take Theo. I don’t want to die. I’ve fought hard not to die. Gods, why? I don’t deserve this! I’ve helped people! Ok, I took a lot for myself, but I saved people! That should be worth something, right? You couldn’t save her though! You deserve to suffer like this forever!

Suffer? The pain… Its less. I’m sweating. I feel like stretched leather, like hells, but I can feel! Not just pain, but my body! HOLYHELLS, I’M ALIVE?!?

Session 7

Liluye’s memory of the purification of the Shrine of the Elk came in fragments. She remembered seeing the bear for the first time:

The blighted monster hurtled out of the shrine in a shower of rubble. The beast was gigantic. Its enormous paws tore the earth open where it trod; its hulking shoulders smashed trees into toothpicks where it passed. Its eyes were like fogged glass marbles. The ursine abomination roared; an earth-shaking bellow that sent out a shower of gray spittle.

Liluye remembered how nature obeyed her call.

The behemoth lunged forward. The ground shook as it charged – Liluye reacted. The bear needed to be restrained, to be slowed down. In Druidic she called upon nature and it responded more powerfully than it ever had before.

The vines in the area erupted into action, slithering to life like black-thorned anacondas. The radius of the vines awakening was tremendous, ensconcing almost the entirety of the visible battle field. A maelstrom of ivy seized the blighted bear. The bear jerked to a halt. A moment later a crossbow bolt from Jac thudded into its flank.

Liluye had been shocked by the ferocity of nature’s aid in response to her plea. Never before had nature given itself so freely to the elf. In the past, the most Liluye had been capable of doing was make leaves twitch of their own accord… and that was when the new druid was concentrating so hard that sweat dripped down her brow.

Something had changed.

Liluye remembered her animal companion’s will.

“Wander! Rhoi’r gorau i!” shrieked the elf to her animal companion, commanding him not to approach the viral bear. Liluye was terrified for her friend; if Wander engaged in melée combat with the diseased bear it would surely rend him to pieces.

Wander ignored her.

The stag tossed his antlers proudly and let out his war cry; a bugle that came from deep inside his chest. The megaloceros’ muscles rippled under moon-pale fur as he reared up and charged into the fray. The vines did not discriminate. Their thorns sliced crimson ribbons into the elk’s pallid fur. Wander ignored them and stomped gustily through the difficult terrain.

As he charged, a golden halo surrounded him.

Liluye remembered seeing evidence of her god in the battle:

Jhod‘s bow glowed with that same golden aura and his shot was truer than any Liluye had ever seen. The cleric’s arrow pinned the bear’s broken arm to its own ribcage.

Wander glowed with shimmering light and when his antlers struck the bear they sent out a shower of faint gold sparks. Similarly the blighted bear’s blood was black ichor. Shadows poured like vomit from its unhealthy maw. Wander’s white body was soaked with black and red blood, a flag of battle. The elk was badly wounded.

The bear’s neck was strangled by toxic vines. Bannon and Kelak were flanking it (Kelak was actually standing on its shoulders so he could more effectively chop at it). The eagle she had summoned screamed as it harried the bear’s back. The diseased bear slashed into Wander twice with its claws and then sunk its teeth into the elk’s shoulder. Wander’s furious bugle was cut short and the companion fell into unconsciousness, slumping in the bear’s jaws. Black toxic slime oozed out of the ursine monster’s mouth and onto the fading symbol of Erastil.

Purest gold light began to pour out of Wander’s wound. The light from Erastil was at war with the bear’s evil… but Wander was dying.

Liluye remembered how it felt to see the stag she’d raised from a fawn dance on death’s doorstep.

Liluye dashed forward, calling upon nature’s power in the hopes of healing her beloved companion. Mikmek and brother were within the bear’s range for its next attack. Jhod, from behind the slight elf, roared, “FINISHHIM, LILUYE!”

The druid reacted immediately. Instead of raising her hands in preparation to heal, the slender blonde skidded to a halt and hauled aloft her antler bow. If her friend the elk was to die, then this sick abomination would at least go before him.

The audial world, for Liluye, became muffled. Everything but the bear blurred in the elf’s keen vision. She could see thumping pulse in the animal’s straining neck, a tiny window revealed between the clutching vines she had summoned earlier. The elf whispered in Druidic: “Gadael iddo fod yn wir, Erastil.” In response, her arrow lit up like an ignited sunrod.

The bear’s head separated from its shoulders as though a giant’s axe, not an arrow, had cut through it cleanly. Its body collapsed into the vines, dissolving away into the form of a decayed man which in turn transformed into ashes. The bear was felled.

Liluye remembered Jhod’s solemn suggestion that it was Erastil’s will that Liluye be the guardian of these woods. But more than anything else, Liluye remembered the incredible strength she felt inside of herself.

Liluye ruminated on her newfound power. She was growing exponentially in strength in only the short period of time she had spent pursuing this charter. Nature responded to her call with a ferocity she could only imagine in her dreams. Beasts rushed to defend her. Healing energy came from the earth through her hands. The very earth rose up to restrain her enemies.

Session 6

9 Calistril, 4720

The script is slanted and hastily scrawled, quite unlike the exacting penmanship found throughout the rest of the journal.

I have been poisoned.

Victims report an incredible sense of fitness and wellbeing for several days, followed by an immediate and severe descent toward death – survival is unlikely without potent bolstering agents. Even then, it is up to the gods.

This cannot be my end, not like this. I have come too far to be felled as collateral damage in a petty squabble between bandits.

Session 5

Dear diary,

Why would anyone have sex ever. It’s supposed to be joyous and wonderful, right? So where did that abomination come from? Ugh. If only I could have looked away. It was gross and icky and bodies are weird.

Let’s start at the beginning. The Knight was in a bad way when the magic wore off. I think I’m making some progress finally with the Numarian, and the sister seemed distant despite an apparently grave injury. I think I overestimated the value of gold with the Faeries as they gladly swiped 50 from the purse when offered. In exchange, they told us not to enter the grove I’m keyed to. Something about Grig sisters? 4 of them? Bad times. Anyways, the Numarian and I are apparently their friends. Hopefully that means they won’t mess with either of us in the future. The Smuggler was supposedly quite brave despite grievous injuries! My heart goes out to him because I know what it’s like to try too hard. Oh and I added a new quest companion to the party roster! He’s a kobold, I think, and really brave! He seems to have taken to the Numarian like a companion.

I returned to camp and tried to do the right thing with the dwarf’s horse, but everyone was asleep except the Half Orc. She seemed nice at first. But I was waylaid by some assassins! They didn’t seem like much, and there as only one, but he must have been a master at arms the way he swung that hammer! When I came to, the sister was bawling, the kobold was near slain, and this guy who sounds like he’s from the Acerage Deep was healing us. Also the shark pendant the sister made looks totally awesome now. It apparently saved me!

The party seems to need to rest, so I won’t push anything for now. But I really want to get to the bottom of this Daggermark conspiracy!

Session 4

It was raining.

Lightly, at first – a fresh shower. But the sky would soon darken, and the heavens deliver a torrent upon the already soft earth of the rolling hills and forests.

The boy stood and turned his face towards the sky, fat drops of water smearing the ash and the animal-fat pigment caked there from days ago. He ran a hand through his hair – still choked with mud, filth, and twigs from the morning – making a half-hearted attempt at removing the larger clumps. These he tossed casually onto the ground – landing near the corpses of some small reptilian beast and some of the blue-skinned beasts like at the Bright Clearing. These were too old for food, and bore no valuables for taking, but Chief Bann’ohn had deemed them important, and so the boy waited.

The other hunter was crouched in the dirt, over a jumble of animal tracks, the steadily-increasing rain already beading off of the large, strangely-shaped helmet of leather to pool in the paw prints before him. With his leather drape trailing behind him on the grass, he looked well-at-ease, and as the boy suppressed a shiver in the early spring rain, he could not help but respect the hunter. Tracking beasts was a skill he had never learned from his father, although the old man had tried to instruct him in the rudiments of the craft.

Crouched beside the Hunter was the tribe’s Wise Woman, an Ahlf, Chief Bann’ohn had called her. The boy knew that this meant she was not like him, but different, and that she had long, blade-shaped ears, like a fox. It may also be that all Ahlf were women – of this the boy was not sure – it seemed to be a subject none wished to discuss. The Wise Woman was consulting with the other Hunter, Jak – no doubt advising him in his hunt. Perhaps the boy would speak with Jak later – although the Wise Woman was often helpful, and it was important to have one in a tribe, she was not always right, and a warrior should trust himself as well.

At last some decision was reached, and a direction chosen. After much travel, with the others on their horses (Still no accounting for why, though. At this rate, they will always be slow) the tribe broke into an open field, in the distance of which could be seen a great tree, mightier and taller than any the boy had lain eyes on.

Advancing into the clearing, the ground was littered with more corpses, both of reptile-beasts and blue-things-that-scream. They are small, and frail, like Kellid lamb-girls, but with scales, or blue, and hideous faces. All are dead of battle-wounds – a mighty battle for such little warriors.

The tribe finally crossed the battlefield, arriving at the tree, and after tying up their horses, found a muddy hole which Chief Bann’ohn said must be the lair of the blue-things-that-scream. Where he knew this, the boy did not know, but perhaps the cheif knows these things, which the boy had never seen before. The rest of the tribe seemed eager to agree, and so the boy pushed himself into the hole, ready to crush the tiny bodies of more blue beasts.

Before he could get down the narrow chute inside, however, a pair of thin hands grabbed the boy’s ankles, holding him fast, and muffled words echoed behind him. Tugging his head out of the dirty tunnel, the boy found the Wise Woman clasped on to his legs, as she counciled Chief Bann’ohn not to enter the lair of the blue-things-that-scream so hastily. She may have been wise, but this was not her time. Now was the time to destroy the enemies of the tribe, and get vengeance for the attack on the Hunter Jak. Now was the time to slay blue-things-that-scream, and take back the ring of the good wife of the warrior Oh’lehk, and make a good allegiance with their tribe (who had many strong warriors) by returning what was stolen. The Wise Woman was good, but did not know all. Now was the time for warriors.

The boy threw himself in to the tunnel, proud to take blood for the tribe. Strangely, the Wise Woman did not let go – she held tight to his ankles, arriving down in the same dirt-walled chamber as he. Perhaps Ahlf Wise Women are also warriors? This is not unheard of, but never end well. “A wolf should to strive to be a wolf. A wolf shaped like a cow hurts the heart.”

Chief Bann’ohn slid into the chamber as well, clad in clothing of bright iron. This was good in a fight against men, but the boy did not think it would be needed here. The blue-things-that-scream had small, stone blades which hardly broke a warrior’s flesh, and were of little worry. Advancing on into the tunnels, the boy’s confidence caught in his throat, however, as a cold chill ran down his spine – from around a bend ahead could be heard the unmistakable sound of ratcheting clockworks, cold steel spikes sliding across each other, and tensing machinery.

The boy froze in his tracks, and turned rapidly to look at Chief Bann’ohn, who showed no fear. Inspired by his leader’s confidence in the face of great danger, the boy leapt around the corner, saw-toothed club waving in defiance as he screamed;

Session 3

The boys were done interrogating Kressle. In Liluye’s opinion, they had done a poor job. The elf took it upon herself to speak with their prisoner.

Kressle was very willing to talk with the druid. This could have been due to the fact that she was a woman, or that she was an elf, or simply that Liluye radiated sincerity. Kressle valued her freedom more than anything else. Imprisonment and death were one and the same to the tough-as-nails human. It had to be execution with the Charter’s blessing. But Delrus’ brief intervention added another element to their conversation.

Kressle was willing to exchange a wealth of information regarding the ominous mark in exchange for her freedom. The human swore on her freedom that she would not return to the Stag Lord’s keep until three months passed… which would give the group sufficient time to plan their attack.

Liluye debated on whether or not to make the exchange. She could sense Kressle’s motive; the woman did not believe they could defeat the Stag Lord. The ranger would keep her word and lay low for the agreed upon time. There was no time to explain to the group; it was take the deal now or leave it forever. To discuss this decision with the other party members would nullify it and, most likely, result in Kressle’s death – and with her the pertinent information regarding the ominous mark. Information that could help solve the mystery of who killed her brother’s men. Information that could possibly help keep her sibling, and by extension the party, safe.

But to set Kressle free would certainly confuse and alarm Ser Bannon and Jac and Kelak in the meantime. How could one explain a gut feeling with credibility? Sometimes, Liluye just knew things.

In the background, Liluye could hear her brother’s cheery off-tune singing.

2nd Session

Deep in the dark of night, beneath the trees of a wood on the north-eastern edge of the River Kingdoms, a blinding light flared suddenly; as though a star had arrived on the earth of Golarion. Jac Steele swiftly dropped the glowing rod he held and rolled back out of the clearing. He sprang to his feet and drew an already loaded crossbow in one fluid motion, turning to face the glare just as the three blue-skinned goblinoid creatures scurried back towards the broken log from which they had first emerged. Each of the mites had covered it’s bulging eyes, shielding them from the glow, and one had even left its small flint knife buried in the flank of the horse lying in a pool of its own blood, breathing raggedly, it’s eyes rolling.

“Zon-Kuthon take you bastards,” Jac swore quietly as he allowed himself to feel the pain from his own wounds. One of the creatures had stabbed clean through his left wrist and the surge of agony nearly caused Jac to drop his crossbow. “Why’d you do dat t’ Calathes? I jest bought dat gods damned horse. He’s new!” The man stooped, still watching through the tree line, and picked up the rapier he’d dropped, gritting his teeth against the throb from his wrist as he did so. The lean, dark horse was clearly still alive, though badly wounded and unable to move, and Jac wasn’t about to let those things kill it if it could be helped.

Daring to glance away for a moment, Jac located a large oak whose roots held a recess large enough for a man to lie in. In the light from the sunrod, Jac could make out a small den beneath the tree. His skill as a woodsman and a smuggler told him that it had probably belonged to a badger or other large creature, but hadn’t been used in some time. It would make an excellent hiding spot until Jac’s allies arrived.

With both weapons hanging uselessly from his hands he backed slowly and stealthily toward the tree. His foot struck the roots and he tossed the rapier in the hollow before sliding, feet first, in after it. He braced the crossbow on a root, aimed to cover his wounded horse, and pulled leaves and detritus in to cover him. With some of the natural groundcover balanced carefully on his wide-brimmed hat, Jac settled down and blended almost perfectly in with the rest of the woods. Only the steel glint of the bolt’s head and the shine of Jac’s amber eyes gave away his position. From here he could act as a sniper while his comrades took out the vile creatures below.

He had ridden out a little ahead of them to act as a scout, a natural fit given his experience. He’d carefully left a trail for them to follow and only hoped they’d arrive quickly. The group had set out several hours ago on a mission to disrupt the operations of a group of bandits in the area. Though Jac, himself, had little interest in bringing the men to justice, Svetlana had asked for his help and the gods knew she and her husband, Oleg, deserved better than to be constantly subjected to thugs and petty thieves.

Jac smiled as he rememberd the kiss he had stolen from Svetlana just that morning. He and his party had handily defeated the ruffians who came for their tribute, even capturing three of the four. The kind folk at the trading post had been duly impressed and delighted to have received his help and Svetlana had moved to kiss Jac’s forhead after Oleg ran off to thank the others of Jac’s group. Jac couldn’t resist and had moved to catch her lips with his own in a brief peck. Svetlana may be a motherly sort, but, as Jac was fond of saying, every woman is a flower; some may be more shapely than others, but they all have their beauty. She had not begrudged him the act.

At least I have that to keep me warm while I wait, Jac thought. His mind wandered to the lips of Lilu and her brother, Delrus. The brother was quite handsome, but was also the source of Jac’s suspicion, while the sister had already developed a special report with Jac. Where are those comrades of mine, anyway? he wondered, thinking now of Ser Bannon’s steel sword and the barbarian child Kelak’s well defined muscles. If they’d kept pace with him, they should have been less than a minute behind him and Jac was starting to get concerned. He’d been very careful in checking the path for dangers to his allies. That was how he’d gotten into his current predicament; by checking the broken log near the mushroom fairy ring in the clearing in a hollow in the haunted woods. An obvious jeopardy made more obvious by the chittering noises coming from the fallen tree. When he’d dismounted to examine the precise nature of the risk, the varmints had attacked him, leaping from the darkness with their knives and babbling something in undercommon. Jac was unprepared, having expected, in all honesty, spiders, and the mites had managed to stab him and his horse repeatedly, badly wounding them both.

Still, the rest of the wood had been quiet and without any peril more serious than the thorny bushes he’d passed an hour ago. Jac could think of nothing that would have slowed the group. Not unless Kelak had killed another horse. That kid and horses did not get along.

Something shifted in the clearing, interrupting Jac’s thoughts. His attention swiftly focused on the log and his finger tightened on the crossbow’s trigger. Three full minutes went by without further sign of movement and Jac relaxed slightly, his mind returning to its wanderings.

He was sure that Ser Bannon would have stopped Kelak from doing anything foolish. If not him, Lilu certainly wouldn’t stand for it. She had some strange notion that Kelak’s totem animal was a horse, though Jac couldn’t see why in the names of the gods that would be true. What could possibly be holding them up then, Jac didn’t know.

Maybe Delrus decided I was too much trouble, after all. He and Jac had gotten to bickering a bit over the interrogation of the prisoners. It seemed logical to Jac that everyone be involved in the questioning so that no information was lost and so that multiple avenues could be pursued. Delrus had seemed to disagree and had sent the party away. True, a couple people, Jac included, had pulled weapons on one of the prisoners…

Jac’s concerns had been further aroused when Delrus began offering one of the bandits a position in a new band of brigands, serving under the former pirate. While he had no overt objection to joining a band of benign outlaws, Jac would at least like to be asked, so he took his concerns to Lilu. Delrus had seemed to develop a dislike of Jac from early on, perhaps because the smuggler was so flirtatious with his sister, and had been resistant to engaging with the man. Jac hoped that his report with Lilu would allow him to get some information on the de facto leader of the group and help him set everything in context. What Liluye would reveal would only worry Jac further.

The leaves at the base of an old ache rustled as Jac stirred beneath them, his joints now beginning to ache with sitting still so long. It was now well past midnight and still no sign of his friends. He cautiously moved to set his wounded hand over the pouch strung on his belt. He had stored a piece of paper in that pouch, on which he’d traced the copy of a strange symbol. According to Lilu, that symbol was carved into the hilt of the dagger that was found amidst the slaughter of Delrus’s last crew.

The sister had confessed to Jac that her brother was here, exploring the Stolen Lands for the mayor of Restov, because he was running from the mysterious evil that had killed so many of his friends. While Jac could sympathize, Delrus had put the whole band in danger without warning and it now seemed that he may be genuine in his desire to recreate a gang subservient to him. What purpose Delrus would use such a gang for, Jac could only guess; theft, murder, and revenge all seemed viable options.

Liluye, too, had seemed concerned that this may be the case, claiming she felt she had been tricked into coming along. Jac only hoped she now felt the trip was worth it. After all, she would never have met him, if she hadn’t. He smiled beneath his concealment at his own arrogance.

Of course, Delrus had denied any malicious intent when confronted and had promised to send the captives north to the authorities. Whether or not he really would have done so was made irrelevant when a contingent came from the capital in answer to the requests for aid sent by Oleg and Svetlana.

Jac shivered as he realized he’d begun to lose focus. The sound of hoof beats and a low roaring roused him from his mental meanderings. His gaze shifted to the track he’d left as he heard someone dismounting. A sigh of relief escaped him as he recognized Ser Bannon’s tabbard through the trees. The cause of both the delay and the roaring became immediately apparent as Jac spotted Kelak riding a horse. In customary fashion, the boy threw himself bodily off the animal as soon as it came to a stop, the roar dying as he did so. Stealth would not be an option, even if Jac hadn’t already alerted the mites.

Jac Steele burst out of the treeline and into the path, leaves still falling from his hat and blood dripping from his wrist and soaking his clothes in several spots, his heavy crossbow hanging from his hand.

“What in de hells took ye so long?” he demanded, smiling all the while. Lilu’s gaze fixed on the blood while her brother, Delrus, asked what had happened.

“There are dree mites down der,” Jac pointed to the clearing. “Ah thought you guys’d be right behind me.” Kelak was already running for the clearing, Ser Bannon following at a more practical pace.

“The horse we borrowed for Kelak is already exhausted,” explained the former pirate. Lilu stepped forward and spoke a few strange words, reaching out to touch Jac’s wounded arm. Glowing vines of green light twisted out of her hand and enveloped Jac, burrowing into his wounds before withdrawing, leaving healed flesh in their wake. Jac shuddered involuntarily. It wasn’t the first time he’d been healed by magic, but it was always strange. “Thank you,” he said, tipping his hat to the druid. “Calathes is down der, unconscious.” The elf was the one who had told Jac his horse’s name, so he knew he wouldn’t need to elaborate. Her concerned gaze shifted to follow Kelak.

The child was already in mid-leap, his axe raised over his head. With a thunderous crash, Kelak brought the weapon down on one half of the log, shattering it. One of the mites scurried out just as the tree exploded and tried to stab at the barbarian. Kelak’s axe came up in a back swing and the blue-skinned creature’s body fell away in two pieces.

The other two creatures were now hissing and screaming in their fell language as they braved the light to avenge their comrade, each shooting a dart from their blowguns at Kelak. The boy dodged the first and the second struck him clean in the forehead, bouncing harmlessly off.

Jac’s bolt took the second mite through the chest as it began to charge Kelak, causing the mite to fly across the clearing and pinning its body to a tree. The third was reduced to pulp by the might of Kelak’s blow and the wood fell silent.

Session 1

We arrived at the trading post at midday, and in the subsequent preparations needed to defend this site against the impending bandit party, I have found it useful to catalog the general state of the buildings and their function. In providing a thorough accounting for the sake of posterity, I will record all useful information below.

The post is a simple affair, run down with age and neglect. This is not to be a slight against the proprietors, Oleg and Svetlana, as life on the frontier has historically been quite demanding, and with frequent raids by thieves and robbers, it is no small wonder that the palisades still stand at all.

At present, the geometry of the fort lacks the ideal star shape, but at least the corner towers protrude from the rest of the walls, allowing archers to fire against any foes adjacent to the structure. Should this fort ever be expanded, I must make careful note to Oleg of this better shape such that the fort will find itself in time as a comforting beacon to future settlers of these Stolen Lands.

Within each tower sits a catapult, all in varying states of disrepair. The northeastern engine is most damaged – in time we may be able to salvage serviceable parts for the remaining three from its corpse.

The fort itself contains only a stables, guest house, storage shed, and a home-inventory combination for the Levetons. None of these structures are built out of anything more sturdy than wood and thatch. This, too, will need to change.

[In the margin is written a small note: quarry and laborers needed long-term. Captured bandits to serve as penal labor? Supply line will require guard patrols.]

For now, however, we prepare for the more immediate: A bandit party, expecting their monthly dues, will arrive tomorrow at dawn. We are expecting a party of four to eight, who in turn will not be expecting us. In order to 1. Discern the location of their larger camp, and 2. Ensure no one is able to escape and alert their superiors, the greatest matter of importance is ensuring we can entrap these brigands. To this end, Jac secured two suitable logs, hidden near the front gates. He and Liluye shall remain hidden outside, until the bandits enter. At which point, they will shut the gates and brace the logs into two small divots Jac and I dug earlier. I pray this will be enough.

Of my companions, only Delrus seems to be looking forward to the morn. Whether this is the truth or simply a mask for our benefit, I cannot discern. However, should it be the former, and be it not borne from naivete, I will be concerned. Never have I met a man of suitable character who relishes the prospect of killing. His past as a highwayman makes more sense, in that regard.

Abadar, Protector of the First Vault, I write these words so that they may be read again by whoever holds this book, and in thinking of you, find your Word spread. Grant me the strength to protect this family; calm my mind such that I shall not falter in the recitation of the martial forms; and should I fall, let these pages find safe harbor and give succor to those who come after.